


Bigger Than a Toaster, Smaller Than an Atomic Bomb

by transfixeddream



Series: Power Couple 'verse [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-16
Updated: 2011-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-20 11:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transfixeddream/pseuds/transfixeddream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for spnspringfling: In which international super spy!Jared comes home to CEO!Jensen.</p><p>Also posted <a href="http://transfixeddream.livejournal.com/100367.html">here</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bigger Than a Toaster, Smaller Than an Atomic Bomb

The neighborhood is quiet for the most part; porch lights glow brightly against darkened houses, because the majority of the residents insist on being in bed by ten, and the moon's a silver dollar as it hangs in the night sky. Jared relishes in the silence now, taking a deep gulp of fresh air--always feels like he can never get enough after he gets back home--and he smiles, feeling more relaxed than he has since he left this morning; at this moment, he's very grateful they decided to move from the city to here.

The house is just like the rest of the neighborhood, dark and silent, and if it wasn't for the light coming from the kitchen, Jared would've guessed that Jensen had already gone to bed. He closes the door softly behind him and resets the alarm, toes off his shoes and then heads towards it.

Jensen's slouched over the table, ass planted firmly on the edge of the chair, and he's scanning over a thick pile of papers next to an open briefcase. His glasses have slipped past the bridge of his nose and his hair is done up in uneven spikes, because Jensen has the habit of pushing his fingers through his hair when he's getting irritated with work. When he turns his head to look at Jared, he looks completely exhausted, a small smile forming on his mouth. "Hey," he says, sounding about as beat as he looks. "How was the flight?"

Jared shrugs off his bag and sets it on the ground. "It was... flight-y. I'll just be glad to be able to finally _sleep_."

He moves around to the back of the chair and places his hands on Jensen's shoulders, laughing a little when Jensen groans and leans into the touch. "Apparently I'm not the only one. Rough night?"

Jensen shakes his head, one hand coming up to pull off his glasses. "Nah, not really, just a lot of paperwork. Tom's working on a couple new proposals and wanted me to check over the details. He did a pretty good job with them so I don't have to do a whole lot, but there's too much crap to read."

"Ah, the hard life of a CEO," Jared says, digging his fingertips into Jensen's back. "You're lucky I'm here to rescue you from it all."

"Very lucky," Jensen says dryly, but Jared doesn't have to see his face to know he's grinning as he puts his papers away. "Oh, your mom called. Twice. She wants you to call her when you get in."

Jared groans and rests his chin on Jensen's head. "Yeah, she called my cell but I couldn't answer it."

"Oh, she told me," Jensen says. "She also said that if you don't pick up the next time she calls, she's flying up here and kicking your sorry ass all the way back to Texas. She says hi, by the way."

"I was in the middle of defusing a bomb!" Jared insists, because he _was_ , even though she doesn't see it like that; she still uses the same excuse since he was a teenager, that the world isn't going to end in the five minutes it'll take to talk to her, even though now it actually _could_. He's pretty sure his momma doesn't understand the severity of his job, or just tries to block it out so she won't be tempted to lock him inside a room and feed him chicken soup and read to him all day.

Jensen yawns, knocking his head back, and his hands come up to pat at Jared's cheeks. "You can have fun telling her that."

Jared does his best to pout, but all it gets out of Jensen is a snort. "You suck," Jared states vehemently.

Jensen just smiles back. "So, what was it today? A ten year old evil genius? That weird guy with the weather machine?"

"A couple of trained monkey assassins," Jared says automatically. "Nah, just one really smart, really pissed off guy with a big ass grudge against Wal-Mart."

The guy was pretty unremarkable physically, mid-forties and going bald, and once the bomb was stopped he pretty much sank to his knees and begged Jared for his life, but the bomb itself was a motherfucker to defuse--twenty different wires, half of them red and half of them black. Jared's pretty sure that planting a bomb in a corporation's main headquarters all because of their crappy customer service is a bit extreme, but that might just be him.

Jared runs his hand over his face. "All in all, a little more deadly than the cross-dressing terrorist, but slightly less memorable than the grandma with the atomic bomb."

"What about the guy with the army of attack roosters?"

"Nothing will ever top that," Jared says. Truth be told, he still has nightmares about that particular experience; he craves for the days when sharks with laserbeams on their heads was as creative as the bad guys got. At least you don't have to pick feathers out of your underwear with sharks.

"Good point." Jensen makes a small noise and clears his throat. "Did you get Genevieve's present?"

"I did," Jared confirms as he detaches himself from Jensen to grab the bag on the floor. "The perfume from that fetching Paris boutique she likes."

"'That fetching Paris boutique?'" Jensen repeats, and Jared gives him the finger for the smirk undoubtedly spread across his face. "And now I know why you're the one who always has to shop for birthday gifts."

Jared pulls out the box and sets it on the table, then glances over at Jensen. "Right. It has nothing to do with the fact that you can't be trusted when buying shit for other people, huh?"

"Okay, that's not true, I can pick out nice gifts. You just don't let me," says Jensen, shaking his head and sounding every bit like a limited seven year old.

"Your idea of a nice gift is a _toaster_."

"A toaster _is_ a nice gift," Jensen says. "It's practical! You can do a lot of things with a toaster. Like--"

"Like make toast?" Jared laughs and moves back to behind Jensen. "Yeah, you sure can," he agrees. "And this is why I'm your parents' favorite son."

"Buying people cars is tacky. Anybody can buy someone a car," Jensen insists.

"As opposed to a toaster?" Jared asks dubiously. Jensen scowls, which probably shouldn't look adorable at thirty-two--or at any age over five, really--but does anyway. Jared just kisses his temple and tries to sound consoling with, "Don't worry about it, you just have different skills. You're really good at signing cards--you have very sexy penmanship."

"And _you_ suck at making people feel good," Jensen says.

Jared smirks. "Not what you said last night," he says, and gets the intended groan from Jensen. "C'mon, man, you walked right into that one."

"I can't believe they actually let you play with bombs," Jensen mutters, but doesn't move away when Jared wraps his arms around his neck, only gives a longsuffering sigh that's just for show.

It's a pretty sweet gig Jared's got going on, he's aware; he saves the world and then he gets to come home to Jensen, who pretty much always succeeds in making him beam stupidly. It may be kind of ridiculous, but the fact is that Jensen manages to get his heart racing faster than dodging a bullet or escaping an explosion ever will.

"Yeah, yeah," Jared says, crouching down to press his forehead to the back of Jensen's head. "I missed you, too."


End file.
